Sixty Seconds Later
by Aphelionite
Summary: What would have happened if the resistance fighters had arrived a minute later to save the colonists about to be executed on New Caprica? Answer: Laura Roslin would have caught a bullet! Eep! Read on...
1. Chapter 1

AN: My first BSG/Roslin & Adama fic - be gentle with me!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Sixty Seconds Later - Part 1**

Chaos reigned. Laura had grabbed Zarek on her way down and now, dazed and bruised, he was dragging her to her feet again, the air full of gunfire and screams. 'Get up! Run! Run!' he was shouting, shoving her ahead of him towards the tree line. Laura didn't need telling twice but they hadn't made it more than a few feet before Zarek was down. Laura turned back, thinking he'd fallen - easily done on the rock-strewn and uneven ground - but it took no more than a glance to realise that he hadn't tripped. She didn't get the chance to start running again, she hadn't even turned when she felt the impact to her stomach. She stumbled backwards and to the ground, pressing her forearm over the wound as her hands were still bound together by thick plastic cuffs.

Up on the ridge the insurgents, having arrived a little late to the party, were drawing gunfire away from the helpless crowd of humans, most of whom were by now cowering on the ground with their arms over their heads. The Centurians suddenly found themselves on the back-foot, unable to get a clear shot at their attackers, until the gunfire began to peter out and finally stopped and they were left in pieces on the ground.

People began warily lifting their heads as their saviours made a beeline for the trucks, guns at the ready in case there were any skin-jobs still kicking. Tyrol and Cally were the first to reach them, checking the bodies still prone in the road for signs of life. 'Chief!'

Tyrol turned to see Seelix skidding down the embankment, rushing towards -

'Frak! That's Laura Roslin,' he swore, rushing after her, kicking up a trail of dust as he slid on the loose earth.

'Laura, can you hear me?' The use of the former president's first name was a little familiar but when she was bleeding out in front of them, appropriateness be damned.

Laura was still conscious, though was perhaps wishing she weren't. 'I've been shot,' she said.

'I know,' said Seelix, cutting off her restraints and unzipping Roslin's coat. 'I'm just gonna take a look, okay…'

Laura nodded, looking up at the clear blue sky. Probably better that she _not_ look, given that she was already teetering on the brink of outright panic. She imagined she could feel her life's blood draining out of her - maybe she wasn't just imagining it. She'd never experienced major blood loss before (been eaten alive from the inside out, sure, but never critically injured), she didn't know what to expect.

She hadn't expected this. She'd known from the day the cylons moved into the neighbourhood that her life could very well be hanging in the balance but she had lived six months with cancer, six months in the shadow of Death, and refused it any credibility this time until she was staring down the barrel of a gun - which, admittedly, she'd done more than once on New Caprica. And still after all that, in all honesty, she'd never imagined herself coming to quite such an abrupt and pointless end…

Oh gods, she was going to die on this planet, die never knowing if her people found a true home and the lives they so desperately wished to resume, never knowing if Baltar would get his comeuppance. And she was never going to see Bill again -

'Laura, you need to stay calm,' said Seelix, as Tyrol reappeared with an armful of rags he'd gotten from who-knows-where. 'Take deep breaths. Help me turn her,' she aimed the last at Tyrol.

Roslin couldn't help crying out as they turned her, albeit gently, onto her side so that Seelix could check for an exit wound. The ground beneath her was soaked in blood and Seelix had a wad of rags at the ready. 'Through and through,' she said, careful to keep her voice even though her face told a different story behind Laura's back, and not one with a happy ending. 'At least the doc won't have to go fishing around for the bullet,' she said optimistically, running a long wide piece of material under Roslin's body before they rolled her back onto her back and knotting it so it would hold their makeshift gauze in place. 'But we have to get her there now - I mean right now.'

Seelix knew that Tyrol was thinking the same thing she was: if they transported her in one of the trucks (and that was the only way they would make it in time), the odds of them making it back into town without being stopped were not good. Laura realised it too. 'Don't risk anyone else,' she said. It wasn't that she wanted to die but by the growing lack of sensation in her extremities, she was going to anyway.

'We're getting you help,' said Tyrol firmly, turning towards the road where most of the survivors were now watching. 'Tobias! Get down here! Cally, go borrow a couple of balaclavas off the traitors!'

'Chief -' Laura protested.

'I don't wanna hear it, Roslin. I am not gonna be the guy who has to look The Old Man in the face and tell him that you gave up days before he got here, you hear me?' said Tyrol. Not exactly how he had envisioned breaking the news of their imminent rescue…

Roslin, weak as she was, still managed to fix Tyrol with a stare that made him swallow, wondering if he was just saying this to give her something to fight for. 'Adama?'

'He's coming,' he promised. 'And you're gonna be here to meet him, understood?'

'Okay,' she nodded, taking a deep breath and gathering whatever strength she had left to her. She had already deduced that if being moved a little had frakking hurt, being manhandled up that hill was going to be about as much fun as sticking hot pokers in her eyes.

'Good. Tobias, help me get her to the truck.'

Laura had been right, it was excruciating, though some small part of her mind was still able to wonder why the hell her hands and feet would go numb when she'd really much prefer it if her GSW would. They threw down coats and jackets to cushion her on the uncomfortable metal floor in the back, tucked halfway under the bench so they could throw a tarp over her. It wasn't much of a camouflage but it might get them past a brief visual inspection.

'She's going into shock,' said Seelix, pulling on a black balaclava. 'Let's go already!'

'Cally, go with the others, they'll take you somewhere safe,' said Tyrol, pulling on his own balaclava and climbing into the driver's seat.

'What about Nicky?' she asked, as he slammed the door shut.

'Tobias will bring him to you as soon as you're safe. I'll see you soon, okay.' He didn't give her a chance to respond, starting the engine, tires spinning up dust as he pulled away.

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AN: I loves the lovely feedback. Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Sixty Seconds Later - Part 2

Doctor Herman Cottle enjoyed a certain level of autonomy when it came to the cylons on New Caprica. They rarely bothered the tent they laughing called a clinic in an official capacity, sick humans were of little interest to the annoyingly healthy cylons - he even suspected that some of them were afraid of the bleach-stenched tent. Perhaps that was why the cylons lacked so much in the medicines developed to deal with the many afflictions of the human race. Sedatives they gave out like candy but just try and get your hands on antibiotics - they didn't exist anymore. Local flora offered some alternatives but for the most part they lacked the resources to test for useful medicinal properties.

He was just lamenting that very lack of resources again when Galen Tyrol burst through the tent flap with a small, auburn-haired woman in his arms. 'What happened?' he thundered, brow contracting as he realised who it was. 'Put her down here.'

Tyrol laid her gently on the operating table. 'Frakking cylons shot her. We must have lost forty people.'

'We need blood and lots of it,' he barked at the nearest medic after peering under the blood soaked dressing. 'How long's she been unconscious?'

'I dunno - five, ten minutes, maybe,' answered Tyrol, looking slightly bewildered after their mad and gods-blessedly obstacle-free dash here.

'Alright, go on, get out of here. I've got work to do.'

'You'll let me know..?'

'Out!' he ordered, starting to scrub in as several medics descended on Laura, cutting off her clothes and hooking her up to the machines.

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Tory hadn't been there when they'd taken Laura Roslin the second time. Okay, so she hadn't been there the first time either, but Laura hadn't been _shot_ the first time. She felt a swell of indignant fury at the Cylons but the bulk of her rage was directed at Gaius frakking Baltar for his part in all this crap. She'd been moving in political circles long enough to recognise a puppet government when she saw one and every puppet government needed a puppet president who could legalise mass murder with the stroke of a pen.

This was all Admiral Adama's fault (Tory was very fickle with the targets of her anger): she wasn't sure how he'd done it but Roslin had been full steam ahead with the rigged election until his little visit. And look at them all now! As if this planet hadn't been hard work _before_ the Cylons moved in… Well, he'd just better get them off this rock as - FINALLY - planned.

It was nightfall as she approached the clinic, checking over her shoulder for Cylon spies. Though there was still an hour till curfew, she wouldn't be surprised if they arrested her on some trumped up charge considering her closeness to Roslin and today's debacle. She slipped inside the tent and headed for the cloud of smoke that was Doc Cottle. 'How is she?' she asked without preamble.

Cottle could appreciate the brevity. 'Alive,' he answered, tapping his cigarette in a metal kidney-bowl and looking older than his years with the weight of his fatigue. A year and a half ago he'd discharged Roslin from his infirmary on Galactica in the fervent hope that she would never have need of his services again. Little did he know that today he'd be wrist-deep in gut, desperately trying to sew her back together even as she flat-lined on his table. It just didn't seem gods-damned fair.

He had a soft spot for the former president - not that he'd ever admit to it. Until the attack on the Colonies he'd never had to treat a long-term illness like cancer, never had to stick with a patient as they were slowly robbed of their life and Roslin had been his first, and so brave…

He found that he preferred treating combat wounds: either, A, he could do something for them or, B, their suffering did not last long.

'When can we move her?'

Cottle's eyebrows reached for his hairline. 'Move her? She hasn't even regained consciousness yet!'

'If the Cylons find her here they're going to finish what they started. We need to get her to a bunker as soon as possible.'

'Move her now and _you'll_ finish her off. The next twenty-four hours are critical, she needs to be monitored. Anyway, the Cylons aren't interested in this place.'

'They might get more interested after what happened today,' she warned.

He shrugged. 'You may be right about that - but she's not going anywhere until tomorrow at the earliest,' he said, matter-of-factly, stubbing out his cigarette. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have patients to tend to.'

'Wait,' said Tory, sounding slightly less sure of herself. 'Can I see her?' Cottle cast a suspicious eye over her. 'I promise not to kidnap her,' she said, holding up her right hand as if she were being sworn into office.

Cottle scowled and led her over to an area completely obscured from view by green screens, leaving her with a curt, 'Don't touch anything.'

Tory had no desire whatsoever to interfere with the tubes and wires trailing off the gurney, in fact she was staying far, far back so it wasn't even a _possibility_. Laura looked small and pale in the bed, all trace of the ferocious leader gone, replaced with this all-too-fragile human being. Tory didn't know what to do with herself, like most people she wasn't a fan of hospitals and her gaze flicked from the heart monitor to the bags of blood and saline and back to Roslin several times before she shook her head and left.

She'll be fine, she told herself as she hurried away to update Tyrol.

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AN: So short, so sorry. If I say please, will you review?


	3. Chapter 3

**Sixty Seconds Later - Part 3**

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As it turned out, Tory's dire predictions almost came to fruition mere hours later when Dr Cottle found himself accosted by one of the Threes. He'd just finished patching up a wounded Five and had no sooner lit a cigarette and stepped outside the clinic than he found himself face to face with the most inquisitive of the cylon models. Hell, she'd made a pretty damn convincing reporter back in the fleet and now she seemed overly interested in Sharon Valerii's child.

He'd managed to fob her off but suffice to say that by the next day, he was more than happy to be rid of Roslin so that he could stop flinching every time the tent flap opened.

Fortunately the nearest entrance to the city's underground tunnel system was in close proximity to the clinic so that when the time came to relocate the once (and probably future) president it was a relatively rapid affair. Cottle went with them to ensure that adequate preparations had been made for her arrival and that she was comfortably settled. Of course the preparations were not to his exacting standards and he ended up rearranging almost everything whilst treating anyone in earshot to a lengthy lecture on proper medical hygiene. It wasn't until Roslin, uncomfortably laid out on a wooden bench and irritable from the journey, threatened to shove his stethoscope somewhere unoriginal that he desisted.

'Just don't come running to me when your stomach turns green.'

'I don't think I'm going to be running _anywhere_ for a while, doctor. Ah! Frak!' she swore as her stretcher was lifted one last time, the industrial strength painkillers she'd been given back at the clinic starting to wear off.

'Easy!' barked Cottle, placing a steadying hand on the stretcher.

Laura passed out again almost the moment the doctor administered another shot of morpha, exhausted by the scant few minutes she'd been conscious in the last few hours, and didn't stir again till morning, when she found Mia and Isis at her bedside.

'How are you feeling?' asked Mia, shifting Isis on her lap as the baby repeatedly attempted to grab the line running from Roslin's arm to the bag of saline hanging from a bent nail on the wall.

Roslin smiled slightly. She felt like hell, but she wasn't about to say that. 'Alive,' she joked instead. 'When did you arrive?'

'Just before dawn. Tory arranged everything. Can I get you anything?'

'Water would be good, thank you.'

Mia removed the lid from a nearby bottle and handed it to her. 'Is Tory here?' asked Roslin after gulping down a few painful mouthfuls.

'No, a couple of them went to pack up your things. They should be back soon.'

Laura nodded, 'How about Colonel Tigh? Or Chief Tyrol?'

'I'll go see if I can find one of them,' said Mia standing up, Isis on her hip. 'Can I get you something to eat?'

Laura grimaced, 'No, thank you. I couldn't,' she said, looking slightly green at the thought.

'Okay,' she nodded, disappearing around the makeshift screen that had been erected to give Roslin some privacy, or at least the illusion of it.

She must have fallen asleep again because when she next opened her eyes Colonel Tigh was occupying the seat beside her bunk. He didn't say anything but sat staring at her with his one eye, a flask in his hand despite the earliness of the hour.

'Colonel,' she said, by way of greeting. They had argued the last time they'd seen each other; she disliked his tactics and he, well, he couldn't care less. But they had bigger fish to fry now and it was obvious that Tigh had already forgotten about it anyway. 'You've had word from Galactica?'

'The Old Man sent down an advance party yesterday. Sharon should be on her way to get the launch keys now.'

'Did you say _Sharon_?' she repeated incredulously. 'We're supposed to trust our fates to a cylon?'

Tigh shrugged. He didn't understand it anymore than she did. 'Can't say as we've got much choice at this point,' he growled. 'Mathias is on her way over here to brief us on The Old Man's plan.'

Laura nodded slightly, 'Good,' though she doubted it would provide any insight into why the frak Bill had chosen the woman who had attempted to assassinate him as the lynchpin of the entire rescue effort. She was afraid that that conversation would have to wait until she saw him in person. The thought of seeing Bill again caused a sensation not unlike butterflies in her stomach but she didn't have time to ponder why that might be. She wouldn't put it past Sharon Valerii to recognise her own child if she laid eyes on her and she couldn't risk the ensuing fallout costing them their ticket out of here. 'I'll need a couple of men,' she said.

Having arranged a guard for Mia and, more importantly, Isis, Laura had planned to eavesdrop on the briefing but as her meeting with Tigh progressed her discomfort grew until even Tigh couldn't ignore it anymore. He insisted on giving her another shot of morpha (no matter how much she protested), thus she missed the briefing and subsequently awoke to find herself on the move, along with many others judging by the number of footsteps she could hear scuffling around her. Seconds later she heard - and felt - explosion after explosion coming from the city above, mud and pebbles shaking loose from the walls and ceiling of the man-made tunnel and she threw up her arm to shield her eyes from the debris. She could only hope that her orders concerning Isis had been followed because there was precious little she could do about it now.

She cursed Tigh for putting her under and cursed him again for screwing it up: a little less morpha and she might know what the hell was going on, a little more and she might have slept through the entire thing. Now she was trapped in the worst kind of purgatory - helpless _and _clueless.

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AN: Reckon Admiral Adama's going to make an appearance in part 5 - stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

**Sixty Seconds Later - Part 4**

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"If you are going through hell, keep going." ~ Winston Churchill

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'Bout time you woke up, thought you were going to miss all the fun,' said a slightly breathless voice somewhere over Roslin's head and she looked up to find that Doc Cottle was carrying one end of her stretcher. Her surprise must have shown because he said, 'I wouldn't wanna lose you in this mess,' by way of explanation.

'Where are we going?' she asked.

'Where do you think?'

'I mean what ship?' she clarified.

'What difference does it make? Just shut up and be a good patient.' He almost stumbled as another explosion, much closer this time, shook the tunnel, raining debris down on them. 'How much farther?' he shouted to the guy in front, slightly worried that they were all about to be buried alive.

'Twenty metres, keep moving!' was the response. Soon after he saw daylight, emerging moments later into a cacophony of gunfire, screaming and ground-shuddering detonations. Cylon raiders screeched high overhead, firing indiscriminately into the crowds of fleeing families stumbling through the blinding hot confetti, shredded remnants of the small life they had built here.

Roslin pulled the blanket up over her nose to keep from choking on the copious amounts of smoke drifting in great swathes across the dirt streets. Her other litter-bearer was nodding towards what appeared to be a tent up ahead, though it kept disappearing in the smoke. 'That's our ride!'

No sooner had he imparted this mystifying information than they began to detect the blood-chilling warble of a low-flying raider. Laura couldn't see it yet amongst the rising plumes of smoke but it's presence could be felt as every particle of matter in the vicinity vibrated more and more violently. Time almost seemed to stand still as they all strained to figure out where the hell it was, waiting for it to burst into view and annihilate them, or for the sound to deepen, indicating that it was moving away again.

The moment was shattered by a high-pitched whine and Cottle shouted, 'Down!' Laura was all but thrown to the deck, the doctor doing his best to cover her in the brief split-seconds before the impact. The last thing Laura saw was a flash of lethal curved wings, for at the exact same moment the flimsy row of tents to their right swelled out and ripped apart, spewing canvas and twisted metal supports out for a radius of at least ten metres.

The shell must have hit a scant twelve to fifteen feet from them: had it been dropped a fraction of a second later, they'd all be unidentifiable stains in the mud. As it was, the blast succeeded in lifting up Roslin's stretcher and dumping her unceremoniously on the ground, whilst Cottle was knocked over sideways by a heavy piece of debris. A blinding dust cloud kept them pinned, stunned and choking, to the spot for what seemed an eternity, temporarily deafened so that an eerie stillness lay over them.

But eternities weren't what they used to be.

As soon as the dust had cleared enough for her to crack open her eyes Roslin was brushing bits of tent off herself and attempting to get up. Perhaps not the best move she'd ever made - it hurt like a swine and she was pretty sure she'd busted a few stitches in the process - but adrenaline kept her on her feet. The man who had been trying to get her to safety, whose name she didn't even know, was dead, a jagged tent pole driven right through his chest, an arrested look on his face. She heard rather than saw Cottle, who was coughing nearby. She moved towards him, one hand groping in the haze that still swirled up past her waist but it was her foot that found him first. Thank the gods someone had had the presence of mind to dress her and put her boots on her feet; she guessed it had been Tory, the woman with a plan for every contingency.

Cottle's head had only taken a glancing blow but his arm was clearly broken. He staggered to his feet, swearing profusely as he looked around trying to get his bearings. 'Are you alright?' he asked, after the last profanity had been vehemently spat out.

'I'm fine,' she said, plainly not, her face pasty as she pressed down hard on her stomach, half afraid she was going to come unravelled.

'Good,' he said, cradling his arm to his chest and giving her his left shoulder to lean on. 'I think it's this way.'

Almost every step elicited a hiss of agony from Roslin and every now and then she would let out an inarticulate grunt of determination to keep from whimpering. Up ahead, little more than five metres away, what she had perceived to be a tent earlier turned out to be a raptor with a massive sheet of canvas pulled over it, camouflaging the rescue-bird that would otherwise be a sitting duck to the Cylon raiders. One of the pilots spotted them and ran forward to assist.

'Help _her_,' said Cottle immediately. 'Watch she doesn't pull anymore stitches.' For it was obvious now that she had, blood beginning to seep through the thick blue jumper she was wearing.

'May I?' asked Skulls, moving to pick her up. Laura wasn't about to argue, she wanted to get the hell out of dodge as much as the next person.

Cottle led the way but faltered a moment later (as did everyone else in the city, she imagined) as, with an almighty bang, something very large and very heavy dropped into the sky. Everyone looked up, even the centurians in their towers looked up, as Galactica hurtled down through the atmosphere, hull blazing with the incredible friction of her bulk and velocity. Skulls - forewarned - was the first to recover himself but Laura and Cottle continued to gawk upwards as Galactica launched her vipers intra-atmosphere, firing them off like flaming arrows of retribution. The sight filled Laura with perhaps the most intense sense of relief she'd ever felt, vindicated in her belief that Adama would come back for them, come through for them. She knew she must be grinning like a fool. 'Bill.'

Skulls climbed onto the wing with her in his arms and had just lowered her into one of two remaining seats when there was a second bang, louder than the first, and a fierce wind flared briefly, sweeping a great wave of charred paper and dust across the flattening city of tents - Galactica jumping back out. The nightmare was almost over, she thought, with more hope than she'd felt in months. Cottle took the opposite seat, ordering her to keep pressure on her wound whilst inspecting his own.

'Looks like a clean break. Hurts like a mother-frakker though,' he said, pulling a tin of pre-rolled cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one, much to the apparent disgust of some of the other passengers.

Laura rested her head against the now-sealed door, still beaming as she nodded her thanks their rescuers. 'We're ready to go home.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Sixty Seconds Later - Part 5**

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Laura wasn't sure if she was giddy from the excitement or woozy from the blood loss as they awaited Galactica's return at the rendezvous point. She quickly came down on the side of woozy when the time came to disembark and she found that even the simple action of moving her head made her vision grey-out. For the first time, she realised she was shaking. Cottle eyed the dark stain on her jumper, which had doubled in size since they'd boarded the raptor, and reached over to check her pulse.

'Almost there,' he promised, briefly squeezing her hand before the door hissed open, belching out half-a-dozen shell-shocked passengers who looked about ready to kiss the deck in gratitude.

They were one of the first ships to dock aboard the Battlestar. Viper pilots were still clambering out of their cockpits, fresh from the battle, as Skulls handed people off the wing of the raptor and shouted for medical assistance. Ishay seemed to have all medics on deck and they quickly had Laura from stretcher to gurney and headed for sickbay. 'That's gonna need a cast,' said Ishay, checking her boss's arm on the move.

'I see your deductive skills haven't diminished in my absence,' said Cottle and she laughed as she knotted a sling over his shoulder.

Some things never changed. 'It's good to have you back, Doctor.'

'I'll tell you if it's good to be back when I've seen the state of my sickbay,' he said, before launching into a report on Roslin's condition - short work since it was obvious what had happened the moment they went to replace her dressings.

The halls were quiet but for the undermanned damage-control teams rushing past them every so often to put out fires or repair breaches - of which Cottle was sure there were many from the brief glimpse he'd gotten of Galactica from the raptor. The poor old girl had taken a pounding; it was a miracle she wasn't in pieces after the stunt they'd pulled jumping into New Caprica's atmosphere. Battlestars weren't meant for planetary atmospheres - they were built in space and they died in space - but he was just a doctor, what did he know?

He had to admit it'd been pretty spectacular seeing Galactica's hulking mass plummeting towards the hard deck like a meteorite though. He was sure he'd never see anything like it again and was quite glad of it: there'd been a moment there when he'd wondered if they were going to jump away again or perform the world's most catastrophic belly-flop and flatten the entire city. The thought of it suddenly made him laugh out loud.

'What's funny?' asked Roslin, being plugged into another bag of saline. She wouldn't have any actual blood left in her veins at this rate.

He didn't have the chance to enlighten her. They were almost to sickbay as another group rounded the corner. Laura craned her head to see what had distracted him, breath catching when she saw what he'd seen, the most welcome sight she could imagine: Admiral Adama. The people with him continued on, probably to the flight deck in search of missing friends, but Adama stopped when he saw Cottle and - of course - Laura.

For a split-second he hadn't recognised her, caked in dirt and blood as she was, her vivid red hair grey with dust. 'That bad, huh?' she asked, when he continued to stare at her in dismay.

'What happened?' he asked, keeping pace with the rattling gurney.

'Oh, you know, tripped, fell on a bullet…' she said casually, though the slurring rather spoiled the joke as an almost irresistible wave of drowsiness swept over her.

'She was _shot_?' said Adama, turning on Cottle as if he'd been the one holding the gun despite the fact that, at this moment, he was looking at least as battered as Laura.

'Bill,' said Laura, half censorious, half bemused as she reached out and plucked at his sleeve to get his attention, 'I'm fine. I just pulled a couple of stitches.'

Adama grasped her hand almost reflexively, ignoring that it was sticky with blood as he glanced back at Cottle for confirmation. Cottle still seemed miffed at the undeserved accusation, unless he had missed the meeting where he'd been appointed Roslin's personal bodyguard. 'She'll be fine just as soon as she's stitched up,' he said, scowl cracking the dried blood down the side of his face. 'And it's good to see you, too, Admiral.'

'Seconded - without the sarcasm,' said Laura, smiling, and this time Bill couldn't help responding in kind.

He released her hand a moment later as they reached sickbay and he was forced to step back so they could get the gurney through. 'Doc,' he said, stopping Cottle before he could follow. 'It is good to see you,' he affirmed, offering his unbloodied left hand, which was just as well as Cottle's other was useless. 'Welcome back to the fleet.'

'Hmph,' said Cottle, shaking his hand and slapping him on the shoulder before stalking off to get his arm seen to before they were inundated with wounded.

Adama quickly found Roslin, who was determinedly looking away as Ishay examined her stomach. She'd popped more than 'a couple of stitches' and Adama's previous belief that he could never see too much of Laura Roslin's body swiftly evaporated. 'Stop wincing,' she said, hissing slightly under Ishay's probing fingers.

'Who's wincing?' he said, looking up at her face instead and much preferring the view, even if it was filthy. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping it across her cheek and showing her the resultant smudge. 'Don't think mud is your colour,' he said, in a blatant attempt to distract her. 'You know, most people bring back pictures, not half the planet.'

She chuckled and instantly regretted it. 'Ow,' she complained, taking a quick succession of shallow breaths. 'Don't make me laugh,' she said, still trying not to.

'I'm going to give you a local anaesthetic,' said Ishay, being handed a large syringe by one of the nurses. 'This might pinch a bit.'

'You don't have to stay for this,' Laura said to Bill. 'I'm sure everyone's going to be waiting for you - you're the hero of the hour, after all.' She held out her hand for his and he gave it to her. 'Congratulations on a spectacular rescue, Admiral Adama. And …' her eyes were over-bright if somnolent as she looked up at him, 'thank you.'

Bill shook his head, 'No thanks necessary.' Least of all from her: there wasn't a single human in this fleet who didn't owe Laura Roslin their life, himself included.

'You have it anyway,' she said, inadvertently yanking his hand, going rigid as the first injection was administered. Oh, this was not going to be fun.

'Maybe I should stay,' he offered, looking pained on her behalf.

'I'm fine,' she reiterated firmly, releasing his hand. 'Go on, get out of here: your public awaits.'

He smiled at that but still didn't move right away. 'I'll come back later,' he promised.

As if she didn't already know that.

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AN: Reviews make the world revolve!


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Can only apologise for the delay and the fact that this chapter just doesn't seem to want to be any good. Okay, I know it's no use blaming the chapter, it's me, but I figured you'd prefer 'not written so great' to 'not written at all'. I could be wrong though... I'll try to make the next better. Ick.

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Sixty Seconds Later - Part 6

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Of course it was the middle of the night by the time Admiral Adama finally managed to get away. It was turning out to be a logistical nightmare trying to find everyone a bunk for the night let alone redistributing food and water supplies to a fleet that had jumped from a population of 2,000 to 39,000 in a day. The funny thing was, this was exactly the type of challenge Laura excelled at. Luckily he had an efficient substitute in the form of Roslin's right-hand woman, Tory Foster, who seemed to need neither sustenance nor rest as she collated reports and tried to find out who and what were where. Thus, Adama had managed to escape briefly.

The sickbay was crammed with wounded colonists and extra cots had been brought in to accommodate them all. Even so, only the most critically injured were being housed here so that Life Station had become the intensive care unit whilst a cargo bay had been temporarily set up as a non-emergency ward.

'Admiral, I'm glad you're here.'

He arrived to find Ishay shedding her blood-spattered apron and shoving it into a medical waste bin. 'Your request for medical supplies has been approved but our birds are tied up shuttling injured people from other ships to the Rising Star at the moment. Your supplies will be brought over when they come back to refuel.'

'And when will that be, sir?' she asked, concerned they might have to start rationing analgesics.

'Oh-seven-hundred,' he informed her, not needing to look at his watch to know it was already well after midnight.

'Thank you, Admiral,' she said, relieved. 'Well, I should get back,' she nodded in respect, glancing down at the book in his hands then to the person she guessed was to be the recipient. 'Looks like someone's awake.'

Adama turned to find Laura watching him, a small smile playing on her lips. She'd washed her face since last he'd seen her so that now he could see how wan she really looked, the concern and anger that had gripped him so fiercely this afternoon when he'd first seen her momentarily flaring again. For some reason it had never occurred to him that she would come back in anything but one piece. Seeing her with a hole the size of a pyramid ball in her gut had shaken him, had demonstrated to him all too clearly that she so very nearly hadn't come back at all. The thought made his blood run cold.

'That didn't take long,' she said, as he pulled up a chair. He looked down at her questioningly. 'You shaved off the moustache,' she said. 'Or I was just imagining it, which is entirely possible with the meds I'm on.'

'You're not imagining it,' he reassured her, running his fingers over his naked upper lip.

'Alright for some,' she said, touching her hair, which was caked and tangled with dust still, though she'd wrangled it into a ponytail by way of a rubber band. 'Do you have a head count yet?' she asked, stifling a yawn as she changed the subject.

'We're still double-checking the numbers,' he hedged.

'And?' she prompted, when he didn't continue.

He sighed, 'Preliminary reports put it at around 42,000.' She was quiet, her blue eyes troubled, and he thought he knew why. 'You can't blame yourself, Laura.'

'How are we doing for beds?' she asked, ignoring his last. Because the simple and undeniable truth was that none of this would have happened had she gone through with stealing the election from Baltar. It was just a good job that Laura Roslin wasn't the type to surrender to her mistakes.

'Apparently the only way to get a bed around here is to get shot, so you're ahead of the game there,' said Adama, though his attempt at levity fell short of the mark.

'I wish I could help.'

'You will,' he assured her. He had no doubt of that. 'But in the meantime, I've brought you something to keep you occupied.' He handed her one of the thicker books in his collection, knowing she would probably go stir crazy with nothing to do but rest up. 'I think you'll enjoy it.'

'Would you mind sitting this thing up for me?' she asked, gesturing towards the bed. She hated being laid out on her back like this, it made it seem like she was ill and reminded her horribly of a time, little more than a year and a half ago, when she had lay dying in this infirmary, slowly suffocating under the invading mass of her own mutating breasts.

'Better?' he asked a minute later.

'Much. Thank you,' she said, opening the book and suddenly realising that she didn't have her glasses. Damn. The fleet wasn't exactly swimming with opticians.

'Here, try these,' said Bill, giving her his own.

'And what will you do?' she asked.

'They're just a loan until we can get you another pair. My eyesight isn't as bad as yours.'

She narrowed her eyes at him before grudgingly taking them and perching them on her nose. They weren't perfect but they were better than nothing. Still, she considered lying and giving them back to him, a move he was anticipating by the look on his face. She took them off again, folding them and setting both book and glasses on the bedside table, foregoing the argument. 'Thanks.'

'Do you know how long you'll be here?'

'Doc says I'll be out of here in a couple of days, but I think I can wear him down,' she added conspiratorially.

Privately, Bill agreed. 'Just don't go busting your stitches again.'

'Says the man who was running around Kobol dodging cylons barely a week after major surgery,' she said, though he hardly needed the reminder.

'Yes, a week, not two days,' he said, sounding a little stern. She stifled a smile.

'Any sign of the cylons?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'It appears as though they thought removing the launch keys would be enough, but we'll do a thorough sweep of all ships for tracking devices as soon as everyone's settled, to be sure.'

'I guess we caught them by surprise,' she said, looking quietly satisfied.

'I guess we did,' he agreed, not looking so discontented himself.

'How did we do that by the way?' she asked, briefly considering bringing up the Sharon situation but deciding it could wait. Everything could wait so long as he was here, looking at her like that.

'You should be resting,' he chastised gently, reigning in the desire to kiss her smiling mouth. Gods, he'd seen that smile before: had it really been a year since Baltar's Groundbreaking Ceremony?

'I am resting. Anyway, if you don't distract me I'll only start plotting my escape,' she told him matter-of-factly, though glancing around just in case Cottle was in earshot.

He laughed. 'We wouldn't want that…'


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Reposted with a slightly lengthier end.**

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**

* * *

Doctor Cottle was doing his best to continue his rounds as usual despite his broken arm, compensating for the disability by dragging a nurse around with him wherever he went and ordering them to do whatever he couldn't. It had taken all night and most of the day but they'd finally stabilised everyone, allowing him to give some of his staff a much needed break.

When he reached Roslin's bed he was unsurprised to find that she was not resting as ordered but up to her eyeballs in the reports Tory had been so kind as to drop off at lunchtime, along with Laura's reading glasses. 'I see you're feeling better,' said Cottle, gesturing for the nurse to remove the stacks of paper so he could get to his patient.

Laura had been glad to have something to do after Tory broke the news that Maya and Isis had not been accounted for, that they had in all probability perished on the surface of New Caprica. In her mind's eye Laura could picture them all too clearly disappearing into the acrid smoke and chaos of the evacuation and when these thoughts threatened to drive her to tears, she buried herself once again in the mountainous task of seeing that the people who _had _survived continued to do so.

'How's the arm?' she asked, looking at the cast covering Cottle's entire right arm.

'I'll live. You wanna help me out here?' he said impatiently.

She obliged, pulling her gown aside to expose her dressings. 'You know, you saved my life down there.'

'Don't mention it. Really,' he warned.

Laura rolled her eyes, 'Wouldn't dream of it. So what's the verdict?' she asked a moment later, pulling a face at the long row of prickly stitches across half her stomach. It was gonna leave one hell of a scar. 'Can I go?'

'Check her pressure,' Cottle ordered the nurse, ignoring Laura's protracted sigh.

'Come on, you have to have better uses for this bed,' she reasoned, holding still long enough to have a thermometer shoved in her ear.

'Blood pressure's 120 over 60,' said the nurse, jotting it down on Laura's chart.

'Temperature's normal,' he confirmed. 'Looks like you managed to avoid infection at any rate.'

'All thanks to your excellent care. So..?' she asked hopefully.

'So, yes, I can find a better use for this bed,' he gave in at last.

'Excellent,' she said, looking around for her clothes, though the painkillers may have been giving her a false sense of recovery.

'Hold your horses,' frowned Cottle. 'You won't be back on your feet for a few more days yet. The only reason I'm letting you out of here early is because someone agreed to keep an eye on you.'

Laura didn't need to ask who that someone had been and sat patiently as her wound was redressed, very much looking forward to getting out of sickbay for more than the obvious reasons. 'Stillman here will take out your cannula and help you dress,' he said, waiting for the nurse to acknowledge his orders before leaving and pulling the curtains closed behind him.

It took a full fifteen minutes to get her dressed and into a wheelchair by which time Laura was in full agreement that she probably wouldn't be walking around for a few more days. She never realised how much her body moved until there were several dozen sutures trying to stop it from doing so.

'Take two every four hours. No more,' Cottle warned, giving her a stern look as he handed her a bottle of pills.

'Yes sir,' she responded. 'When is-?'

'Sorry, I'm late,' said Admiral Adama, arriving just in time to answer her unfinished question.

'Actually, you're right on time,' said Roslin, practically rolling herself towards the exit.

'Not so fast, young lady,' said Cottle, one hand on the chair just in case she got any ideas. 'Do not,' he said, looking at Adama, 'let her overexert herself. Her ass is to stay put until I say so.'

'Understood,' nodded Adama seriously.

'And make sure she eats something, she needs to get her strength back.'

'I will, Doc.'

'And -'

'Thank you, Doctor Cottle,' said Laura repressively, trying to reach for her bag.

'NO straining!' he barked, shoving the bag towards Adama instead and looking more than a little exasperated. 'Maybe letting you out isn't such a good idea,' he threatened.

'I'll be good,' Laura promised quickly.

'You have my word on that, doc,' added Adama, slinging the weighty bag over his shoulder, then considering staying after all to have the hernia it had undoubtedly caused fixed. What did she have in here? Rocks? No, he quickly realised, _papers_. Tory. He'd have a word with her later.

Cottle looked at them both as if trying to catch one or the other in a fib before finally relenting and waving them out of the infirmary with, 'Someone will be by first thing to change your dressings.'

'Looking forward to it,' Roslin nodded.

She was greeted by many well-wishers as she was wheeled through Galactica's corridors, but none were more pleased to see her than a couple of kids from her school who hadn't seen her since she was led away in cuffs by the New Caprican police. Bill couldn't help smiling as the boys fell all over each other trying to tell their teacher their thrilling tale of escape but was forced to play the bad guy and break up the little party before long: Laura was starting to wilt again, stifling more than one yawn, though the story of explosions and centurians and dogfights was indeed gripping.

A marine helped him lift her through the hatchway of his quarters, which was most definitely not built with wheelchair access in mind. 'Thank you, that will be all, sergeant,' said Bill, dismissing him.

'No, Bill, not the bunk,' groaned Laura when he began to push her in that direction. 'It's still early and besides, Doc Cottle said to eat something and I won't be able to sit up in there.'

'You mean you won't be able to tell what's going on from back there,' he corrected shrewdly.

'Am I wrong?' she asked, glad he couldn't see her face. 'It's not like your sofas are uncomfortable.'

'You're gonna get me in trouble,' he murmured, turning them around again.

'Did I mention how grateful I am to be out of sickbay?' she asked, grinning up at him.

The wheelchair didn't have any arms so it was relatively easy to slide her across to the sofa, where Adama propped so many pillows behind her that her feet touched the other end.

He placed a stabilising hand between her shoulders as she carefully sank back into the mountain of pillows with a sigh. 'Comfortable?' he queried, pulling his arm out, hand trailing down her arm as he crouched beside her. He stopped himself just short of taking her hand.

'Very,' she confirmed contentedly, thinking that if she had her way she'd never have to move from this spot again. She had everything she could possibly want right here.

'I'll get you a blanket,' he said, when they were done smiling foolishly at each other.

In the admittedly lengthy thirty seconds it took him to fetch the grey quilt from his bed, Laura fell sound asleep; as usual, in worse shape than she'd been letting on. Bill shook his head at her stubbornness, wondering how many hours she'd spent poring over reports today as he settled the quilt over her. The woman just didn't know when to stop. Usually he admired that about her but under the present circumstances he was more inclined to share Cottle's frustration.

Well, she was on his turf now and if Laura Roslin thought she was going to sweet-talk him into letting her overwork herself she had another thing coming. He brushed a loose strand of hair off her face, fingertips tracing a path from temple to jaw. She was back, she was here and she was safe.

And he was never going to let anything hurt her again.

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AN: To the anon reviewer of chapter 6: First, thanks for your review. I think this'll turn out to be 10 or 11 chapters and will not be continued beyond Collaborators, it's a one-off bubble universe fic.

To everyone else: thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying it so far!

Sixty Seconds Later - Part 7


	8. Chapter 8

AN: I don't think I could adequately explain what a pain in the ass the second half of this story has been, I seem to have deleted more than I've written and I'm still not entirely sure how I'm gonna write the rest. This must be some kind of payback for the first 5 parts being so easy to write! Gah!

Anyway, at least this is a bumper chapter. I can only hope that I've finally managed to give it some of the cohesion that's been so elusive these last few weeks/months…

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**Sixty Seconds Later - Part 8**

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It was several hours after Laura had fallen asleep that Adama realised something was amiss. He'd brought his work over to the main table so he could keep an eye on her and for the last few minutes she'd been twitching fitfully on the sofa, dreaming, he guessed, and not of pleasant things. He set down his pen and moved to kneel beside her, catching snatches of muttered words, faint pleading, 'Please, no … I don't know anything … just a teacher … no, not in front of the children, please …'

'Laura, wake up,' he almost whispered, able now to see the sweat glistening on her skin. He patted her face gently. 'Wake up,' he ordered more forcefully this time, 'it's just a dream.'

'Bill… where are you? Where _are _you?' she whispered, cringing down into the sofa.

'I'm right here, Laura.' He couldn't help shaking her a little, the need to wake her from whatever nightmare she was having outweighing any concern he might have about jostling her. She had to wake up and look at him, she had to wake up and know that he was here, that he _had _come back for her, that she was safe and he was right here or his heart might break at the desperation in her voice as she called out his name. '_Laura_!'

She jerked awake, breathless and momentarily disoriented, struggling against him at first so that he had to restrain her before she hurt herself. 'It's me, it's just me,' he said soothingly. 'You were having a nightmare.'

'Bill,' she said, as if unsure she'd gotten it right, looking round at her surroundings as if she couldn't quite believe it till she'd seen the corroborating evidence of his quarters.

'In the flesh,' he confirmed, concern still evident as he released her shoulders.

'I was having a nightmare,' she gasped, slumping back into the pillows.

'I know, it's over now,' he said and couldn't keep from pressing her hand between his there beside her in the semidarkness, couldn't stop from offering some small part of the comfort he would gladly bestow upon her every day of her life if only she'd let him.

'Just a nightmare,' she repeated to herself. But it wasn't just a nightmare, it was a memory, memo_ries_, of very real masked police, over-bright interrogation rooms and a firing squad that had so very nearly been her end, images swirling one into another and punctuated with awful images of Hera and Maya rotting even now on the surface of New Caprica in a terrifying jumble that left her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

She wiped a line of perspiration from under her chin with a shaking hand, finally noticing Bill's attentions and starting to feel slightly foolish. 'I'm fine,' she said, shaking her head, not meeting his eye. 'I'm fine, sorry. Sorry,' she apologised, easing her hand out of his.

Bill leaned back on his heels, watching as the Laura Roslin he knew so well reasserted herself, locking away the fear and pain wherever it was that she hid them so well. 'You have nothing to be sorry for.'

She half laughed, 'That depends who you ask. Could I have some water, please?'

'Of course,' he said, turning for the glass he had set on the large chest behind him for her.

'I can do it,' she said when he moved to help her sit up. She felt shaky, misplaced, as if this was a dream within the nightmare and she would wake to find herself back in a cylon cell. Of course, if this was really a dream, it probably wouldn't hurt so frakking much. And if she were really in a cylon cell she wouldn't be sleeping.

'You're white as a sheet. How's the pain?' he asked, when she had taken her fill and returned the glass almost empty.

'Mmm,' she grimaced, her lips a thin line. 'Fine so long as I don't move or breathe,' she said. 'Doc Cottle gave me something…' she struggled to remember what she'd done with the bottle of morpha pills.

'I've got them here,' he said, getting up to refill her water glass.

Usually she would avoid strong painkillers, morpha at the top of the list, but this was not 'usually'. The thing was, she tended to let her guard down when she was high and now, in the wake of the catastrophe that was New Caprica, probably wasn't the time to be getting sloppy with Bill. Their lives were complicated enough. If she ended up back in the big chair, which she had not yet been approached for, then they would be back where they started, parents to a fleet that needed them to maintain a stable (and professional) working relationship.

And if she wasn't approached for the presidency? Well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. So much easier to contemplate the perceived shackles of leadership than her own possible happiness, because she'd had that crutch kicked out from under her one too many times in her life. She was tired of loving people, needing them and having them ripped away from her over and over again. So she told herself not to get used to this easing of her body and mind by external means. She couldn't afford to if she wanted to preserve what was left of her sanity…

She was glad to see that her hands had stopped shaking by the time Bill returned and she swallowed the pills quickly, missing the practically instant effectiveness of the painkillers she'd been receiving via injection.

'Do you think you can stay awake long enough to eat something?' he asked, one hand on the phone on the wall beside the hatch.

She wasn't hungry but knew that Doc Cottle would lecture her if she didn't eat something and she doubted she could convince Bill not to tell him. 'Wake me if I nod off,' she sanctioned, carefully trying to find a more comfortable position. 'I'm just gonna stay here till the oramorpha kicks in.'

_And I don't care about anything but you again… _

* * *

Bill had left for CIC early, as usual, handing Laura over to the medic who had shown up to change her dressings as promised. She was looking much brighter this morning, putting away a decent breakfast and he was pleased to see she had recovered most of her colour. Affairs in the fleet were starting to get back to normal, whatever that was, all supplies and people finally where they were meant to be. Despite the fact that they had fewer ships, they were old hands at this by now and, unlike the first time they'd found themselves consigned to space, they weren't forced to run every thirty-three minutes from a relentless cylon fleet.

Laura was alone when he returned to his quarters with lunch in hand. 'Hey, hi,' she said distractedly, hardly glancing up when he entered. She was back in the wheelchair and had parked herself at his desk, where she was - no surprise - working. The woman was becoming a cliché.

'No Tory?' he asked. He'd run into Ms Foster earlier and told her in no uncertain terms that she'd have him to deal with if she jeopardised Laura's recovery in any way.

'No, she was being insufferably overbearing so I sent her off,' she said, shooting him a shrewd look over her glasses. 'Is that lunch?'

'Hope you don't mind noodles again,' he said, taking the opposite seat and batting her hands away when she attempted to help him clear some space on the desk, noticing as he did that she was moving much more gingerly than this morning. 'The doc said no straining,' he reminded her.

'It's _paper_,' she said, as if she was saying 'feathers'.

'A ton of paper still weighs a ton.'

'It's not as if I'm picking them all up at once,' she said testily, shaking her head.

Bill had seen several sides to Laura in the time he'd known her (and even two faces when she'd crossed him with Starbuck), he knew her well, better, he thought, than anyone else alive, and much as he wished he'd never had the opportunity to see this side of her, he knew it painfully well. Literally. Watching her go through those agonising last few weeks of her cancer and comparing that tortured woman to the healthy woman afterwards made him somewhat of an expert in Laura's pain, it's absence and it's presence, and he recognised it so well now, could read every taut line in her face. 'You haven't taken your pills today,' he stated, as he slid a carton of noodles over to her.

'What?' she retorted, as if he were delving into an area of deepest personal privacy.

He sighed, 'If you're in pain, you should take the pills.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' she said, voice clipped. He thought she was going to add something else but she picked up her carton instead, jabbing the fork in moodily.

He watched her play with her food, more than a little annoyed by her lack of concern for her own health. He'd promised Cottle he wouldn't let her overexert herself and found himself in danger of failing in his word in less than a day. He found that his appetite had disappeared and he abandoned his noodles and began sorting through the piles of crap on his desk instead, though 'sorting' was a generous term for it.

'What are you doing?' Laura asked, as one by one her files were muddled into one big disorganised pile then banged on the desk to knock them into neater ranks.

'Cleaning up.'

'But I'm not-'

'Yes you are,' he said, opening one of the emptier drawers in his desk and dropping the lot inside with a slightly ominous clang, as if the bottom of the drawer were protesting.

'Bill,' she said, adjusting her tone as if she could reason with him but he took a set of keys from his pocket, locking the drawer up tight. 'You can't be serious.'

'Your staying here was subject to certain conditions. If you don't like it, please, return to life station,' he said and she knew he meant business. For once the patented Laura Roslin glare was having zero effect.

'Those Quorum candidates aren't going to select themselves.'

'Let's see, shall we?'

She glared at him harder but still nothing. 'Fine. Fine, if it'll make _you _feel better I'll take the damn pills.'

'It would,' he said, hardly able to miss the martyred way in which she said it.

She looked at him for a moment longer as if hoping he would change his mind before finally pointing towards the bathroom in resignation. 'You'll have to fetch them for me.'

Bill got up. It wasn't like he enjoyed being a hard-ass with Laura but sometimes the woman didn't give him any alternatives and this really was for her own good. He knew better than anyone how much it frakking hurt recovering from being shot and most other people would be taking all the pain relief they could get, not Laura though, oh no, Laura had to prove that she wasn't most people, like she was somehow superhuman, when in reality she was just as physically fragile as the rest of them. _He'd _been high as a kite for a month after _he'd _been shot.

Still… she was probably going to be cross with him for the rest of the day now, unless he could think of a way to procure her forgiveness... He picked up the bottle from beside the sink with a plan already forming.

* * *

She had to hand it to him: the man was good. It took a dining chair and a couple of cushions but Bill managed to rig a seat high enough for Laura to be able to sit and rest her head over the sink and by the time he'd finished with his preparations Laura's pills had kicked in which was nothing but good news when it came to her mood. She didn't mean to be snippy with Bill but what was she supposed to say? 'Sorry, Bill, I don't want to take my pain meds because I'm afraid I'll do something really stupid like kiss you'? She'd actually fallen asleep on him after dinner last night, just snuggled into his side on the sofa and drifted off for frak's sake. She couldn't be trusted. If it wasn't all so frakking agonising she might laugh.

Not that she cared about any of that right now of course.

'How's that?' Bill asked, sliding a rolled up hand-towel under her neck.

'Fine,' she approved, settling her head back. Maybe having her work confiscated wasn't so bad if it meant she got her hair washed. She'd talked to the medic about it this morning but - apparently - washing her hair 'wasn't a medical priority', if you could believe it.

Bill snapped the rubber band that was twisted up in her thick hair rather than struggling to disentangle it, using a cup to capture water from the running tap. The water drained out of her hair the colour of dark chocolate and he chuckled to himself.

'What?' asked Laura, opening her eyes just long enough to shoot him a curious look (whilst trying not to notice that he'd removed his jacket).

'This just reminds me of a time when the boys were little. We were on Tauron and we decided we were gonna go for a walk - me and the boys that is, Carolann wasn't much for nature walks. Anyway, we were walking through these woods, following the river to see where it would take us and the boys got ahead of me. Well, about two seconds after they turned the corner up ahead and vanished from sight I start hearing panicked yelling. So, you know, my heart was in my mouth thinking 'What the frak have they run into?' and I go running after them.'

Laura could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice, which had lost all trace of the officer, like that night on New Caprica. He was perfectly at ease, no hint of an admiral's stars in the little bathroom. She was starting to feel pretty relaxed herself: his hands were heavenly as he gently lathered shampoo through her hair. She probably shouldn't be enjoying this as much as she was but gods-dammit, she'd been wondering what it would feel like to have Bill run his fingers through her hair for a very long time.

'Anyway I turn the corner and they're both up to the hip in mud. The river had run into a marsh and they'd both run into it one right after the other. I must have read them too many adventure stories because they were both convinced it was quicksand,' he laughed.

'I'm assuming you eventually pulled them out?'

'After I'd been home and gotten the camera,' he joked. 'You should have seen the state of them, covered in a layer of mud an inch thick, and the way they were _walking _on the way back to the house…' It was obviously a good memory. 'I had to use a hose to get most of it off their clothes.'

'With the boys still in them?' she asked, deciding she wouldn't be surprised if the answer was yes. She was sure that a military man such as Adama would find this an efficient alternative to bathing.

'Carolann wouldn't let me. Hold still while I rinse this out.'

'Stop making me laugh and I'll stop moving.'

'Wish I had a hose…'

'Ow,' she laughed groaningly, holding her stomach.

'You okay?' he asked, pausing.

'I'm fine, I'm fine,' she waved off his concern. 'Concentrate on what you're doing, soldier.'

As it was, he was nearly done and it was the work of only a few minutes before he was carefully towelling her hair dry and supporting her out of the bathroom.

'You have no idea how good it feels to finally get that crap out of my hair,' she sighed, sinking down into the wheelchair with more than a little help from Bill. Truth be told, he might have been right about her overdoing it and there was a dull constant ache in her stomach even beneath the haze of drugs.

'Sofa?' he asked, gripping the handles of her chair.

She blew out a breath. 'Actually, I think I might lie down for a little while,' she said, surprising the hell out of him. 'Unless you're planning on returning my paperwork?'

He almost laughed, resisting the urge to drop a kiss on the top of her head, unspeakably grateful that she was cooperating. 'Bunk it is.'

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AN: As always, feedback appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sixty Seconds Later - Part 9**

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Bill couldn't sleep. He lay wide awake on the sofa, one hand behind his head, resisting the urge to go check on Laura. He could hear her faintly, muttering in her sleep again, having another nightmare and much as he might want to go wake her up he knew she wouldn't want him to. Not that she cherished her nightmares or anything, she just liked telling herself that Bill didn't know about them.

He heard a sharp gasp and, a few moments later, the scrape of a glass. She was awake, he realised with relief. This was the third night in a row he'd had to lie here, almost as tortured as she was by her nightmares in his helplessness. He didn't know the specifics but he'd managed to glean enough from her mutterings to know that the cylons hadn't believed her to be a simple teacher, though how long they'd questioned her for he could only guess. He didn't want to guess at their interrogation techniques. He shuddered at the thought.

Suddenly there came the sound of skittering as if someone had spilled a bag of beads and Laura swore. He got up to find her attempting to get down on the floor to pick up the pills rolling in every direction.

She looked up apologetically, 'Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.'

'You didn't,' he said, helping her to sit back on the bunk before starting to pick up the tablets and return them to their bottle. 'Couldn't sleep.'

'Something on your mind?' she asked, and for a moment he considered answering honestly: Yes. You.

'Always.'

She smiled in commiseration, obviously thinking he was referring to work as she took the bottle from him and tipped out a couple of pills. 'Thank you,' she said, indicating that he could sit if he wanted to, so he did. Doc Cottle had finally switched her painkillers to something that didn't come with a warning not wear heels, sign legal documents or operate heavy machinery today, so she was more than happy to take them - when she wasn't throwing them all over the floor that was. The good point about being clearer minded was that she felt more sure of herself and her ability to know where the line was with Bill, which in turn made her much more comfortable all of a sudden.

'Mind if I ask you something?' she said, looking over at him. They were almost shoulder to shoulder and she could make him out perfectly though the light was dim; the clean-shaven jaw, skin that might have been perfectly unblemished for all she noticed anymore and, as he looked back at her, blue eyes which still had the power to startle her with their intense hue.

'You can _ask_,' he confirmed, more than a little intrigued. He noticed a slight shiver and took a blanket from the bed and settled it over her shoulders, getting a small smile as reward before her face became serious again.

'Do you remember being shot?' she asked. They'd never talked about it before, didn't like to talk about that time when he'd been shot by a cylon and she'd gone crazy in a cell he'd put her in. It wasn't one of their finest epochs, to be generous about it.

Bill was thoughtful for a moment, eyes drifting down to the floor. 'The last thing I remember is seeing the gun and that first shot. I saw the gun in her hand but I didn't really register it and by the time I had she'd already fired and …' he shook his head, 'that's it, till I woke up in sickbay a week later.'

'You took your time,' she half scolded him.

'I needed the down-time,' he said with a twinkle in his eye she could discern even in the semidarkness.

'Can't argue with that,' she conceded.

'It's weird, I remember the flash of the gun but there's no sound, I can't remember _hearing_ anything after seeing the gun,' he confided.

'Is that usual?' she asked.

'It varies, for some they remember the event in black and white or-'

'Brown?' supplied Laura. 'Kind of like sepia tone…' Bill didn't say anything. Laura was staring into space, drifting away to some place else. 'I have these dreams,' she began, not really knowing where to go from there. She swallowed and decided to start at the beginning. 'They put us in trucks and told us we were being moved to a new facility. Tom Zarek was in the same truck as me, it was the first time I'd seen or heard anything of him in months. He told me he'd been in detention. Partway to this "facility" we stopped and were told we had five minutes to stretch our legs and about a minute after we were all out of the trucks …' she paused, taking a shaky breath. 'A group of centurians came marching over the hill, maybe a dozen, maybe only half that, I don't know, it seems to change, and we realised what was going on. There was no _facility_. This was an execution. This was _our _execution.' Her eyes were wide as if she still couldn't believe it, looking out in front of her as she had looked down upon death. 'The sound they make when they move… There's this one respirator down in the infirmary that makes almost that exact same noise every now and again and I swear to gods my blood turned to ice _every _time. Just thinking about it - feel my hands,' she said, pressing them against his to prove their frigidity. With a small, fleeting smile he manoeuvred her hands between his and began to gently chafe the warmth back into them.

'Tom pulled me back. There was an embankment at the side of the road and I didn't even think - except, shit, I'm frakking dead - and I just grabbed Tom and jumped. And then we were running for the trees …' She was glad of his hands around hers, taking courage from the warm, solid strength of him, an anchor in the storm. 'Every night I find myself getting out of that truck and I know what's coming and there's nothing I can do to stop it.' She turned her face away from him, wiping her eyes on the blanket. Bill squeezed her hand.

It took her several moments to compose herself again and it was clear that she wanted to finish her story as quickly as possible once she had. 'They got Tom first. He was behind me and I heard him fall and I turned back but it was too late. And then… you'd think I'd be better at handling near-death experiences. I just lay there thinking, this is it, this is really it, I'm really gonna die on this frakking planet.'

'But you didn't,' he reminded her.

'I was one of the lucky ones.'

She thought of Zarek lying on the ground, blank eyes staring up at the sky, splattered in his own blood. He had been imprisoned for four months and finally executed for refusing to cooperate with the cylons and in Laura's book, he'd earned his redemption. Ironic that the man who would have happily put a bullet in her at the beginning of this voyage would die taking one for her.

And she thought of Maya and Isis… she wouldn't be sharing that part of her nightmares with Bill.

'Laura,' said Bill softly, recalling her attention. She turned to look at him, a small miserable smile on her face. 'It will get easier,' he promised her, 'it's just going to take time.'

'How long did it take you?'

He hemmed, fearing that she might find the answer disheartening.

'That long huh?'

'It's a process,'

She drew in a deep breath, nodding. 'I know,' she said, patting his hand and realising as she looked up into his eyes that she was far too close to him. The way he was looking at her, the bare, naked way he cared for her. Of course the very next thing her treacherous gaze did was drop to his mouth and she hurriedly closed her eyes, turning her face away before opening them again. No dropping the guard at all, even when you're _not _on the morpha, she told herself sternly. This was insane, she was a grown, sensible woman in full possession of her wits who knew that this was not a path she wanted to go down and yet he made her feel like a hormonal teenager. 'Well, I think I'm going to try and go back to sleep. What about you?' she asked, in a voice that was slightly too bright considering the recent topic of conversation, chancing just a very quick glance in his direction.

'Same,' he said, finally releasing her hand to look at his watch. 'Still time to get a few hours.'

She nodded again as he got up, feeling heat begin to build in her cheeks. 'Sweet dreams,' she said, hoping he couldn't see her blush in the dark.

'Same goes for you,' he said softly, disappearing back to bed.

* * *

AN: I'll admit it, I'm just trying to get to the finish-line with this fic or it will NEVER be finished EVER and I just can't live with another unfinished fic on my conscience. Doesn't mean you don't have to review though! Even if it's just ro say 'Why did you bother?', lol. Come on, it's xmas! You know you want to. Remember that new year's resolution to review more stories? Here's the perfect place to start! Okay, this is getting pathetic...

Hope to have the last installment to you in the New Year. Live long & prosper.

Aphelionite


	10. Chapter 10

Author's notes: 10th and final installment AT LAST. I can't apologise enough, I just hope that you don't stone me at the end… "You made us wait a year for THIS?" Merry xmas!

**Sixty Seconds Later - Part 10: **

'I'm _fine_.'

'Are you sure?'

'Doc Cottle said I could walk around a little. I even got him to write me a note just in case you didn't believe me. It's on your desk, sir,' Laura said with a cheeky grin.

'I haven't been that bad.' Laura didn't say anything but looked thoroughly amused at this inaccurate protestation, holding her stomach as she walked a slow circuit round Bill's quarters. 'Just don't overdo it.'

'I'm not overdoing it,' she tutted. 'This is the first time I've walked more than five paces since New Caprica, feels good to use my legs. It's not like I'm going to suddenly collapse to the floor - unless the ship lurches unexpectedly. You haven't got any ship-lurching manoeuvres scheduled for today, have you?'

'Not today, no,' Bill answered seriously, flicking through the memos on his desk in an attempt to appear as if he wasn't watching her every move. She really _did_ get a note from Cottle. Hilarious.

She laughed and pulled out the chair she had stopped to lean on, lowering herself slowly but unaided to sit at the table. 'There,' she said, slightly breathless but looking very pleased with herself and not without reason - the ability to take oneself to the bathroom was underrated. 'Tomorrow, laps.'

Bill was still shaking his head at her and chuckling to himself when there was a knock at the hatch. 'That's probably dinner. Come,' he said, turning as it swung open to admit not dinner but Tory, who was looking delighted about something. He looked at Laura who already seemed to have an idea of what was coming, her smile, contrary to Tory's, sliding from her face.

'Admiral,' said Tory, in short acknowledgement of his presence before turning to Laura. 'The Quorum was sworn in this afternoon and it's unanimous: they want you back, _Madam President_.'

Tory looked as though she was about to burst with happiness at getting her old job back and a week ago Laura probably would have been pretty happy about it too but suddenly she felt everything she stood to lose by resuming her old post. She chanced a look in Adama's direction, wondering if she would see disappointment or relief there. Instead she thought she saw resignation as he looked back at her.

'Pending your acceptance, the inauguration ceremony will be tomorrow afternoon,' said Tory, looking from Laura to Bill and back again uncertainly. 'So … should I call them back?'

Laura broke her gaze away from Bill's, effectively slamming the door shut on that particular might-have-been. The resounding echo was almost tangible. 'Yes, thank you, Tory. Call them back, tell them I accept.'

'Excellent,' said Tory, beaming again. 'I'll come by in the morning to go over the details?' she suggested as Private Jaffy arrived with dinner.

Laura nodded. 'Very good,' she agreed, dismissing the younger woman. A few moments later Jaffy was gone too and they were alone again, stewing in their own thoughts as they set the table.

'I'm surprised it's taken this long,' Bill said eventually, pouring himself a drink.

'Me, too. I think the lack of centralisation is slowing them up,' she said, not because she thought it was important but just to say something, anything but what she was really thinking: This sucks. 'Mind pouring me one of those?'

He didn't even chastise her for drinking, setting her glass on the table as he sat down to eat - not that either of them had much of an appetite left. The little food that did pass their lips went by more out of habit than appeal, something to do to fill the silence, not their stomachs. Anyone walking in then might have wondered who'd died.

Which was ridiculous, thought Laura. They hadn't even discussed any potential relationship, looks and gestures did not a relationship make, and yet something lay shattered on the ground around them, something they had invested their hearts in.

'Another?' asked Bill, pointing to her glass. Well, it couldn't hurt.

'Thanks,' she nodded, beginning to clear the uneaten food as he got up, stacking their plates and cutlery back onto the tray.

An early night was on the cards for both of them - and a sleepless one too.

The morning was gone, it seemed, in no time at all, unlike the night preceding it, and it felt as though Bill had barely walked into CIC than he was leaving it again to have lunch and change into his dress uniform for the ceremony. Tory was still there when he arrived, having turned up at oh-seven-hundred this morning, once again looking like a corporate lawyer in her power-suit, ready to take on the world again, or at least boss it around.

Unfortunately for her she wasn't the boss of Adama's quarters and when she tried to impress upon him the importance of going over another dozen items before the inauguration, she found herself unceremoniously ejected until they'd had time for lunch. Well it wouldn't be proper to let Laura, who was smothering a grin, become president on an empty stomach.

'Doesn't like the word 'no', does she?' he noted, pulling Laura's chair out for her.

'She's a negotiator, 'no' becomes 'make me a better offer' in Tory's world. Can't deny that she gets the job done though. Thanks.'

Bill refrained from offering an opinion on Tory's methods of getting the job done. He wasn't exactly a fan. Well, it hadn't been Laura's idea to rig the election. Then again, he'd wondered more than once whether he had made the right choice in forcing Laura to stand down. She'd been right, hadn't she? Baltar's presidency had been a car-crash right from the start, and if Bill had thought that stealing the election would eat Laura alive then what had he thought watching her people suffer under a cylon occupation would do? Or the bullet Cottle had dug out of her gut? Perhaps Bill should have been the one helping Laura rig the ballot, not Saul. Perhaps Laura was simply returning to where she was always meant to be – out of his reach.

Bill didn't kid himself that there would be much room in her life for him after today, even if that was what she wanted and he couldn't be sure she did. Sometimes he thought there was something there but Laura was so skilled at hiding her feelings, so adept at putting herself second, that he wasn't even sure _she_ knew how she felt. Anyway, it was all beside the point, nothing was going to happen between them now.

He sighed.

'Something wrong?' asked Laura, fork suspended halfway to her mouth.

'No,' he shook his head, digging his fork into the carton in front of him and not really meeting her eye.

'Bill,' she wheedled, putting her fork down.

He shook his head and sighed again. 'I guess I've just gotten used to having you around,' he finally admitted, somewhat against his better judgment.

He could tell that hadn't been what she'd been expecting him to say, even if she suspected it was what he was thinking, and it seemed like an eternity before she smiled a little, looking down at the table and back up. 'I would've thought you'd be happy to see the back of me, I haven't been the most gracious houseguest.'

He shook his head in disagreement, attempting a smile, but was disappointed despite himself. What had he expected? For her to say that she was going to miss him, too? That she didn't really want to go? That she'd much rather stay here, with him? Sounded like an alternate reality he'd like to live in.

'Tory said they're repurposing the Agamemnon for the new government so we'll probably be pretty busy over the next few weeks organising everything,' she said, and Bill knew she was falling back on old habits, using work to guard herself against awkward or painful situations. 'But after that, maybe we could –'

Bill's gaze jumped back to her face. Then again maybe she wasn't trying to change the subject. Was he imagining the faint blush in her cheeks?

'-have dinner? We could make it semi-regular. It would make sense for the president and admiral to meet regularly, discuss conditions in the fleet…' she added, as if she needed to justify it somehow. Maybe because she knew that when she was president again she _would_ have to justify using the president's time for her own purposes, because from the moment she took that oath she would be on the fleet's clock, not her own.

She'd spent half the night flirting with the dinner proposal, one moment thinking that she was in fact flirting with disaster, the next wondering what was so wrong in enjoying Bill's company. They were both adults, both knew the situation, and both were just as lonely at the top, even if only one of them was prepared to admit it.

Bill's answering smile was broad. He knew that for Laura this was tantamount to saying she would miss him, that she liked spending time with him, that she didn't want to just return to the way things had been the last time she was president, purely professional. He knew it was all she could offer him while they held the positions they respectively held, but it was enough, for now. 'Perfect sense,' he agreed.

'Good,' she smiled, looking pleased. 'At least I'll have _something_ to look forward to, after I'm done cleaning up Baltar's mess…'

The conversation moved on to the former president but Bill was suddenly feeling much more light-hearted as they returned to their lunch. He and Laura might not be able to move forward but neither one of them was taking a step back either, relinquishing what they already had. And one day, perhaps, they would have the luxury of controlling their own destinies once more.

THE END

More author's notes: I love getting reviews and respond to most, even years after publishing. If it's here to read I'm checking in on it every now and again, so please let me know what you think!

Working on another BSG story but, in order to avoid leaving you dangling again, I won't be publishing it until it's completely finished. Now there's an incentive to write if ever there was one! It would be a shame for no one to read something I've worked so hard on…

Thanks for reading! Until next time…

Aphelionite


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